


Hide and Seek

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Bittersweet, Drunken Shenanigans, Ex Sex, Friends With Benefits, Gay For You, Hand Jobs, Hide and Seek, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Reminiscing, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Christmas reunion drinks turn into a game of hide and seek in the woods.





	Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Westlife Merry Kinkmas Ficfest. My randomly assigned kink was predator/prey, but then I started writing it and it went completely off the rails and got schmoopy but I liked it too much and couldn't stop I'm so sorry.

“No peeking.” Mark's demand is slurring at best, while Kian rolls his eyes. Shane laughs as his friend punches Kian in the shoulder again, clumsy. “Kian, no peeking.”

“I'm not going to peek,” Kian snipes back. Mark studies him, glaring, because apparently this is something they're taking quite seriously, twatting about in the woods at three in the morning, too cold for this shit but just drunk enough on pre-Christmas drinks to mind.

It had been Mark's idea, in an indirect sort of way. One of those stupid comments in some article, the ones that are always blown way out of proportion. Shane's stopped getting annoyed about being asked when they're getting back together, just recites the same thing every time he's asked. Yes, we're still friends. No, we're not getting back together right now.

They will, eventually. He doesn't doubt that everyone's aware of it. But for now there's too much to do. Too much life to live. That's the thing about being in full-time work since before you're technically an adult. Achieving your dreams without time to admit that there are other dreams out there, ones that don't necessarily have to incorporate four other boys. Three other boys. A wife and kids and a hundred other people who depend on your dreams being in total agreement to their own.

Not that he regrets any of it. None of them do. Missteps along the way, sure, but there's something in the disappointments and backtracking, something that is almost alive, in that you're allowed to have your own mistakes to make. To put yourself out there and not get to the Eurovision finals, not get that number one, have your show come to an end and get the bad reviews that don't have to mean you did the wrong thing so much as you stuck your damn neck out for once because the successes make it all worthwhile.

Because it was yours.

But this had been fun. Drinks in one of the Sligo pubs. Nicky had even made the trip, for once. Wives and kids and boyfriends left at home and just the four of them, around a table, aware of the occasional camera flash and sure this is going to be a viral mess on instagram, for as much as any of them see it around the thousands of twitter mentions and notifications that flood their inbox every half-second.

Shane doesn't really check them any more. There are only so many minutes in the day. Nicky's pretty okay at it, and Mark does alright as well, though Shane knows he's muted most of the nutters. They'd compared notes on that one. The ones that are determined that they're each of their future wives, or the ones who keep telling Mark that him being gay is a mistake. Insultingly flippant while they're trying to get his attention. Kian doesn't bother with social media at all, unless it's to push something he's been paid to promote, or retweet Jodi's pictures of the kids. He's teasingly shown his unread notification counts to the others while Nicky tried not to have a heart-attack at figures reaching eight digits.

Not that any of that matters right now, his phone in his pocket and his family at home and Nicky doubled over laughing while Mark berates Kian about peeking.

“Fuck _off_ , would you?” Kian snipes. “I'll fucking not find you at all and you can freeze in the woods until morning.” Nicky collapses to the cold leaves, snorts blurting out through his fingers. Mark is pouting. “I'm going to start counting.”

“Ooh, he's going to start counting!” Shane teases, in a high-pitched voice that sends Nicky into fits. Mark and Kian glare vaguely in their direction.

“I am!” Kian turns into the tree, burying his head in his arms. “I'm starting now.” Mark tries to do a runner's stance while Nicky shoves himself to his feet. “Ready?”

“Ready,” they all chorus. Kian hmphs in approval.

“One hundred,” he says. Mark bolts for the trees, crashing drunkenly through the undergrowth. “Ninety-nine.” Nicky's gone too. Shane follows, still able to hear the counting, though getting fainter as he lets the woods swallow him up. “Ninety-eight... ninety-seven...”

It's dark, in here, as the counting fades. Cold. Shane shivers, quickens his pace to warm up, then remembers that it's the fucking dark Sligo woods and he's five beers in when he trips over a root and almost goes sprawling. He can hear Mark running, somewhere, though he's had a couple more than Shane and isn't great at the stealth aspect, seems to be hitting every low-hanging branch as he passes.

“Ow!” There's a thud, then the sound of Mark righting himself. Shane hears Nicky laugh, loud and cackling, somewhere up ahead.

“Twenty!” It's a distant warning shout, amplified by the surrounding silence. Shane remembers he's supposed to be hiding.”Nineteen!”

For a wild, ill-advised moment he considers climbing a tree. Continues jogging slowly ahead instead, just trying to put distance between them while Kian tracks down the easiest target first, the one that's singing the Mission Impossible theme to himself and has just fallen down again. He's not sure where Nicky is.

“Ready or not!”

Shane moves faster. Hangs a right through the trees, away from Mark, trying to find the parts where the trees are thicker. Scrambles up a small rocky hill and finds himself in a patch of clearing that isn't exactly ideal for hiding.

“Shane.” It's a whisper from the other side of the clearing. Nicky, leaning conspiratorially through the trees and beckoning with one hand. “Come on.”

It takes a second to catch up. Nicky is already moving, silent and determined. Shane isn't sure why he's been invited along. If they're both caught, it takes away some of the glory of Nicky's win, but regardless it's nice. Listening to companionable breaths that mist on the air while they jog along beside each other, making a jagged path through the trees.

“Where...”

“Got a hiding place,” Nicky interrupts. “Shut up.” They both pause when they hear Mark squawk in surprise, then loudly start to protest, too far away to hear the words but probably about how Kian was clearly peeking. “Eejit,” Nicky mutters. Shane smirks.

“Missed him, though,” Shane whispers. Nicky nods. “Missed you too.”

“You just saw me,” Nicky murmurs, though they both know that wasn't what Shane meant. It had been a surprise, Nicky showing up at his gig. Welcome, of course, but for a moment he'd stuttered, not sure how to marry his new life and his old life in his head. Had gotten a grin and a wave from the balcony and tried not to stare the whole time. At Nicky, watching from a distance instead of standing beside him.

“Thanks,” he whispers back. “For coming.”

“Figured it was probably about time.” Nicky's hand grips his wrist in a brief squeeze.

“Louis drag you?”

“He called and said there was room if I wanted.” He gets a guilty smile. “I always meant to come, one of these days. I just...” Nicky shrugs. “You know?”

“Yeah. I know.” He does. How life gets in the way. How there's a part of him who doesn't want to show up for the others, in case it steals their thunder. Like holding them back with reflections of what they were, when all they're trying to do is see their own way. “Well, anyway, Gillian was happy to see you.”

“Yeah. Georgina says hi.” There's a uncomfortable, settling silence. By the time it breaks Nicky is crouching down and wriggling under a thick fallen log and Shane can hear Kian creeping through the woods at a distance, quietly scolding Mark to shut up and stop singing, Shnicky will hear them.

It's a word Shane hasn't heard out loud in a while. Haunts him too often, in tweets and comments, especially after Nicky's appearance at his gig.

He pulls himself under the log on his belly. Nicky helps at the end, grabs his hands and tugs so he slides damply through the earth. When he struggles to his knees, wiping leaves from his jumper, he realises they're in a narrow, tangled roll of fern and bramble, the shore a faint lap on the other side. Muck pushed up by the water, perhaps, or cleared debris, but it creates a cosy enough shelter, even if Shane's sure there are plenty of bugs in the knotted twigs hanging way too close to his hair.

“Nice one.” They're both kneeling. There's not room for much else, though Nicky manages to struggle onto his arse and bring his knees to his chest. Their sides are pressed together. Nicky flinches when a slimy bundle of leaves catches his sleeve and brushes them away with a look of disgust.

There's footsteps crunching through leaves nearby. A twig snaps with a soft crack. They both freeze.

“What was that?”

“That was you,” Kian sighs. There's movement while Mark apparently tries to ascertain whether the twig that just snapped was under his own foot or not. “Watch where you're going.”

“I'm cold.”

“It was your idea.”

“I have good ideas.” Kian snorts softly in reply. “Where do you think they are?”

“I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out.” Mark hums in agreement.

“They're probably shagging.”

“They're not shagging.”

“Every time I looked for them before it turned out they were shagging.” Shane feels his cheeks go red, even as Kian laughs in agreement. “Once I caught them making out under my bed. They were like a jack-in-the-box of shagging. I'd be looking for something else and suddenly it was Nicky sucking Shane off in a cupboard.” Kian is laughing harder now. Nicky has just covered his face with both hands. “You reckon they still...”

“I don't want to know,” Kian sighs, though he's still hiccuping with laughter. “Caught them in a bouncy castle once after Molly's birthday party.”

“Shnicky shagging in a park, Shnicky shagging in the dark, Shnicky shagging here and there, Shnicky shagging everywhere...”

“Please stop ruining Dr Seuss for me. I have kids.”

“Don't invite Shnicky to their birthday parties, whatever you do.”

“Eejit.” There's a soft slap. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” There's a brief, considering moment which only gives Shane enough time to hear his own heart pounding a desperate, embarrassed jog against his sternum. “What was that?” It's a deer or something, probably. Shane can hear it through the trees, and hopes it'll give Kian enough of a chase for him to creep out and go home and never have to talk to any of them again.

They tromp away, Mark humming the X-Files tune far too loudly.

A hand lays gently on his shoulder. Shane opens his mouth to speak. Isn't sure what to say. If there's anything _to_ say, after all this time.

Nicky shushes him. Not yet.

The footsteps fade.

“You okay?” Nicky whispers, finally. His voice is low, and worried, and Shane can feel the warmth of him, the shift of him when he breathes. He wants to go. He doesn't want to leave.

“I'm okay.”

“If you ever want to talk about it...”

“We never talked about it before.” Nicky nods. It's true. Pretended to talk about it, sure. Brief conversations convincing each other it was fine. Just loneliness. Companionship on the road and someone to hold him while he slept. Nothing meant, nothing lost. “After the gig Gillian said...” His voice chokes on the next breath. “She said she wouldn't ask. If we...” He closes his eyes, feels an arm settle around his shoulders.

“Georgina never asks,” Nicky murmurs. “One time she said something, about how it's better than it just being random girls, but after that...” When Shane looks up blue eyes are watchful. “I've never wanted other boys, you know? It was different.”

“It was. Yeah.” He's never wanted other boys either. It hadn't been about that. “Fucking Shnicky.”

“Literally.” They both giggle awkwardly in the confines of the tangled leaves. “We're still Shnicky. The sex wasn't the point.”

“I know.” Shane breathes out slowly. And he really needs to stop thinking about the sex, because it's bringing back a range of remembered stimuli he's not ready to deal with. “It's the stupid things I miss, you know? Like... Nandos and movie night. Or those jokes we'd have and the other two wouldn't know what we were going on about.” Nicky smirks.

“Those lunches we'd have on the road, sitting in fancy restaurants and getting wobbly on beer.”

“You mean our dates?” Shane laughs. That was what the other two had always called them. It hadn't felt like that, really. Had just felt like spending time with a good friend.

“I used to call them the steak and shag,” Nicky chuckles. Shane doesn't want to nuzzle his ear. Does it anyway, too fond and maybe tipsy and his adrenaline up from hiding in the woods. “Don't.”

“Sorry.” Shane pulls back. “Um.”

“It's fine. Just... I've spent the last ten minutes trying not to snog the life out of you and...” Nicky shrugs awkwardly while Shane tries not to oblige. He's hard. Shouldn't be hard. Nicky pulls his legs closer to his chest. “You're fucking adorable and I'm so proud of you and maybe I spent way too much time watching old videos on Youtube yesterday.”

“Really? What did you watch?”

“Dunno. Just... old interviews and stuff. Maybe I was looking for evidence, maybe. That it had happened. We were good at hiding it, but we weren't... that good.” Fingers stroke hesitantly at Shane's cheek, through his stubble. “We grew up. I remember when you were just this farmer kid and now...”

“Yeah.” He swallows. Nicky's mouth is too close. He can smell beer. Their noses brush. “I remember when you still had all your hair.”

“Fuck off,” Nicky croaks, and then kisses him.

It's slow. Testing. A press that sits chastely on each other's mouths, barely tasting but just getting the feel of it again. The fingers shift up and through his hair and when their lips part Shane is the one pressing forward, his tongue darting into Nicky's mouth, nervous, then properly, tangling sloppily while Nicky moans.

It's breathless. His hand finds Nicky's waist. Feels Nicky return the touch. Shane has the high ground, still up on his knees, and when Nicky pulls him forward it's gravity that does most of the work, until they're both on the wet earth, Nicky's leg around his waist.

Maybe he'd liked to pretend he hasn't missed this. That it was the friendship. But _Jesus_ when they rub together there's something carnal in it he hasn't felt in years, forbidden and beyond lunch dates and Nandos and in-jokes. About Nicky, gasping against him and swallowing his moans.

His jeans come open. Nicky's too. Hand on him, after too long. Nicky in his own, thick and hard and wet leaves on the back of his hand when he wriggles it under Nicky's arse and there's no room to do much else but hang on, his world filled with rustling and excited panting and the touch of that firm grip, tugging him up just the way he likes.

Nicky is different. Five years and he's harder, more sinewy. Shane knows he is too, is increasingly aware that his early- and late-thirties are different beasts entirely, the second one much more prone to waking up with creaking knees and vague dizziness when he stands up too fast from tying his shoelaces. It's an odd thing to think, between studying Kian's crow's feet and noticing that Mark's boyfriend looks like they used to, eleven years ago when everything felt like the future.

Not that that's precisely relevant.

“Shay,” Nicky breathes, arching up. Shane kisses him again. Tastes the same as ever, though maybe more like coffee and less like tea. Still, it's Nicky, and Nicky's hand, and Nicky's mouth, and Nicky's soft breaths speeding up as they work each other in the dark, silent and aching.

“Oh.” He shudders. Too soon. Too late. “Nico.”

“Shane...” Nicky shudders beneath him. Leaking down Shane's wrist and all of him caught in the stroke. “I...” Hungry lips mouth at his jaw. “Shay...” Shane's hand shifts, and when he feels his fingertips brush Nicky's entrance he feels the suppressed cry vibrate through Nicky's whole body, the cling get tighter. It's not going to happen tonight. Maybe not ever again. Is enough to feel Nicky clench at his touch while he works a slow pressing circle into that tensing hole and Nicky heaves and needs him back.

They come in quick succession. Nicky first, with a hoarse gasp, Shane directing him automatically away so the mess ends up in his hand instead of on their clothes. The rest of him is focused on how beautiful Nicky looks. How the same but so different, his head tipping back and all of him stringing tight until he relaxes, hand moving again and eyes a sleepy, sated midnight blue.

He comes breathing Nicky's name into a strong shoulder, Nicky's free arm embracing him.

It's as they're laying still, trying to figure out the next step, that there's a crunch nearby. Shane freezes, feels Nicky tense against him.

“We've already come this way.”

“We haven't,” Mark argues.

“I spend literally every other weekend in these woods with my kids. We've passed that log.”

“Oh.” Mark looks around. “Shane!” he calls. “You've won! We already caught Nicky!” He sounds quite pleased with this stroke of genius manipulation. Shane suspects it might have worked too. Not on him, but on Nicky, who'd probably come charging out of the woods to inform them all that he hasn't been caught and is clearly the winner and how dare they question it. “I'll climb a tree and look.”

“You are _not_ climbing a tree.” It's his dad voice. “You're sloshed. You'll fall out and break your head.”

“You do it then.”

“Neither of us are climbing a tree,” Kian sighs. “Ten more minutes then I'm calling it. I'm fucking frozen and this was a terrible idea.” He says it pointedly at Mark, who apparently doesn't notice. “Wait.” They both hear shuffling.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to call Shane.” Fuck. Shane scrambles, looking for his phone in the tangled mess of his jeans, awkward with Nicky still half wrapped around him and one hand dripping cum. Finds it and hits mute just as the screen lights up and Kian's name appears.

“You hear something?” Nicky swears silently, his own phone out and him desperately trying to turn off the sound. It vibrates in his hand, Mark's name on the screen. Shane hopes they can't see the light. “Nicky!”

“Shane!”

“Shnicky!” they chorus teasingly together, then laugh. Shane is too overwrought to blush, knelt over Nicky in the dark while they both watch each other, in silent agreement to keep still.

The footsteps shuffle away again. They stay there, locked in a moment that trickles away with the fade of Mark and Kian's footsteps.

“Um,” Shane whispers. Nicky is trying to wipe off his hand on a patch of fern. Shane does the same, struggling his jeans back up. “So.”

“Yeah. So.” Nicky manages to buckle his belt, both of them moving awkwardly in the narrow space. Shane realises he's being studied. Isn't sure what Nicky intends to see. What he's meant to say. “That was...”

“Yeah. It was.” His phone blinks again, Mark's name popping up this time. “I'll go get caught, if you like. It's probably time we went home.”

“Probably.” Nicky bites his lip. “I might not stay at your place tonight, actually. Mark's got room, so I can...”

“Yeah. Fair enough.” It might be full of plastic and sawdust, but Mark's house is shaping up quite well, despite the perpetual renovations. There's space, and it's not like there's kids in every room to ask questions, though Shane suspects it isn't too far off. He hopes they work it out. Mark will probably be a great dad.

He leaves Nicky behind and begins to walk, knees stiff after the cramped space. Follows the sound of Mark's humming and starts stepping heavier when he gets close, moving slowly alongside and pretending to skulk in the trees. Manages to hide a smirk when he hears running footsteps behind him and a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Found you!” Kian says triumphantly. Mark is grinning as he catches up. “Seen Nicky?”

“He was headed that way, and then we got split up.” Shane points in the other direction. Mark turns to peer into the trees. “Nicky!” he shouts. “You won!” The echo fades while they all wait. “Come on, it's cold and we want to go home!” He fishes out his phone, flips it open.

“We tried that.”

“I can tell.” He swipes past the missed calls and sends a text. It's five minutes later that Nicky comes tromping out of the woods, a victorious smile on his face.

“I won!”

“Congratulations,” Kian sighs. “I'm going home. I'll order an uber.” He begins to stalk back toward the car. They all fall into line obediently, and Shane remembers a time when this was what they did, follow Kian and hope he knew what the fuck he was doing.

It's not long, the four of them stood at the side of the road and shivering, before an uber pulls up. The woman in the driver's seat makes a soft squeak when she realises, and then stares straight out the front while they all pile in, Kian in the front and the rest in the back.

Nicky and Mark get out first. Shane stares out the window as they pull away, watches Mark nudge Nicky and laugh, Nicky slapping him on the back in reply, both of them lit in the christmas lights shining merrily on the dark front porch.

Then they're gone.

Shane keeps staring out the window, the fields flashing past on the way home.

 


End file.
